One of the sales reps asked me what I do to pass the time while driving to work after she heard that I commute 30 miles from Akron. I told her I listen to my iPod, singing along the entire time, and not just bopping my head and mumbling along with the music while I drive down I-71, but literally belting out the lyrics, distorted facial expressions, drumming on the steering wheel, and all. I sing so loudly that I have to keep the windows rolled up when I'm not on the highway because surely the driver in the neighboring car would not only hear The Decemberists crying "O Valencia!" but more so, they would hear me and my sorry voice. I must look like a total nut job.
The funny thing is it's not so much looking like a freak that worries me. No, I worry more about whether or not the car in front of me thinks I have serious road rage aimed directly at them, or even worse, they may think I'm singing along to Britney Spears.
They can peg me as a feminist for listening to Ani Difranco. They can call me emo for listening to Evanescence. They can even write me off as a homicidal maniac for some of Modest Mouse's outlandish lyrics, but please, dear God, do not let them think I listen to Britney Spears.